Perfect love
by Katherine-Gray
Summary: Chapter 3 is now up for this timeless love story. PG-13 for some vaguely gruesome violence. Be warned.
1. Default Chapter

**disclaimer:  I do not own Phantom of the opera.  I'm not sure who it belongs to at the moment, but it's not me.** 

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His fingers caressed each key sending notes of pure beauty pouring from the old pipe organ.  It was an old song, comfortingly familiar and unique.  In the darkness of his surroundings the music was his only beacon of light.  Without even truly meaning to, his voice rose to match the notes he played.  He heard it rising and falling in perfect unison with the melody, serving as a perfect accompaniment.  Caught up completely in the song, Erik momentarily forgot his life and all the gruesome details of the night's events.

            Christine sang wonderfully well this night.  Her voice was almost perfect.  Soon she would no longer require his interference to acquire leading roles.  Unfortunately, the fad of the moment was overbearing, screeching sopranos.  Erik had tried to wait patiently for the fad to end, but with the arrival of Christine, he knew his days of painful headaches brought on by Carlotta's singing would finally be at an end.  If she would only listen to him…

            As his thoughts turned to Christine more and more, his concentration wavered and the music began to suffer for it.  He abruptly stopped playing and rested his head in his waiting hands.

            "Christine…" he muttered almost angrily.  His eyes darted around the room suddenly and he could not repress the sadistic smile as his eyes rested on the unconscious body of the Vicomte de Changy.  The foolish man had followed Christine one night as she came to visit Erik.  Erik had pretended not to notice him, but as soon as Christine had gone, Erik had pounced.  The man had threatened Erik with death if Erik did not release Christine.

            "Release her, monsieur?  From what, pray tell?  She is my guest.  And my student."

            "Liar!"  He had screamed as he lunged at Erik.  Erik contemplated the situation.  He wanted to kill the man for violating his privacy, he needed to kill him, but something kept him from doing it.  Was he finally getting sick of blood shed?  It was his hesitation that caused the Vicomte to miss and accidentally tear the mask from his face.  Than man had caught a glimpse of Erik's mangled face and passed out.

            In a rage Erik had bound the Vicomte to the wall.  Out of spite more than anything else, Erik had smashed a bottle of wine over the man's head.  The sight of the blood mingled with the wine comforted him slightly.  He replaced the mask absently as he wandered to his pipe organ to begin his nightly playing.

            Christine was due any minute.  He smiled in memory of her sweet face, but as he smiled he felt the mask and could not stop himself from raising a hand to it.  It was a perfect mold of a man's face and purely white.  She had held it once.  She'd been frightened then, and yet although she knew his hideousness, she always came back to him.

            His eyes flick back to the Vicomte.  She knows him also, possibly even loves him.  Erik's thoughts turn dark, but he is interrupted.

            "Erik, did you hear me tonight?"  Her voice floats in from the doorway.  "It was all so nearly perfect!  Carlotta said…" but when she saw the Vicomte she stopped in alarm.  "Raoul?!"

            "So, his name is Raoul…" Erik scowls, but the mask prevents Christine from noticing.  She rushes to Raoul's side and proceeds to try to wake him.  Erik does not stop her.  He sulks as he watches the Vicomte gradually regain consciousness.

            "Raoul!  What are you doing here?  O Erik, why is he bleeding?  What have you done?"

            "Christine…" Raoul's voice is groggy.

            "O my love!" Christine whimpers.

            Erik stands watching as Christine embraces the Vicomte again and again.  No, he thinks to himself.  No.

            "He was trespassing.  He will die."

            "Have mercy!" Christine wailed.

            "Mercy?" Erik muttered.  "What a funny idea.  I am shunned and feared, forced to live in shadows for no other reason than my questionable physical appearance.  But I received not one shred of mercy.  And this man commits an _actual _crime and I am to be merciful.  And why is that?  Because he is handsome…?"

            Christine is silent.  Erik tries to meet her gaze but her eyes are for Raoul only.  Erik smiles.

            "I see.  Because you _do_ love him."  Christine raises her eyes to Erik's and nods.

            "I love him more than life itself." She tells him in that superb voice of hers.  Erik's mouth twitches a little when he hears it.  So much promise…  He doesn't hear her treacherous words for a moment, but only that crystal voice.  But it's not for him.  No, she wasn't singing for him.  Not tonight.

            "Love, Christine?"  His voice is weak.  "You love him more than life itself, Christine?"  He starts forward toward the pair.  From the folds of his ever-present cape he produces a dagger.  "Do you know what the most perfect kind of love is?" he asks faintly.

            "Erik…?" Christine is weary.

            "Perfection, Christine.  What is the most perfect kind of love?  It is a simple question requiring only your opinion."  Erik kneels beside her and the bound, helpless Raoul.

            "Don't answer Christine!  He's trying to trick you somehow."  Raoul desperately tries to move away from Erik, but Erik pays him no mind.

            "Tell me." he demands of Christine.

            "T-true love." She tells him defiantly.  There is a moment of silence as Erik stares hard at Christine, but she doesn't waver in her defiance.  Erik sighs.

            "Wrong answer, Christine." He whispers as he plunges his dagger deep into Raoul's chest.  He forces the blade into the body again and again.  Raoul has become a pulsing, squirting mass of blood and tissue.  Christine, her mouth gaping, only stares at her former lover as he dies silently and painfully.

            Erik stabs once more and leaves the dagger impaled.  He flashes a quick, reassuring smile at Christine as he stands and walks back to his pipe organ, his one and only true friend.  As he sits, he places his hands gently on the keys and closes his eyes.

            "Do you want to know the correct answer, dear?  The only perfect love is the love one harbors for the dead or for someone so unattainable actual love is unreal.  It is more lasting and sincere than so-called true love.  Endless desire, a driving endless desire…"

            He turned to look at her.  She was covered in blood, her hands especially.  She stared at her hands, clasped them together.

            "You and I are the same now." He whispered to himself.  The music was calling to him suddenly, and he had to answer.  "Come," he commanded her.  "We've wasted enough time tonight as it is.  Now, sing…"


	2. An Eye for an Eye

As everyone so loved my last piece of fiction Perfect Love, I thought I might continue on with it! In the first installment, Erik brutally murders Raoul, the Vicomte de Changy, much to Christine's dismay! But what is this? Could the Vicomte truly have...survived?  
  
Like I mentioned earlier, I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I'm not exactly sure who does. Although I disagree with some, I have been told that my story is AU. I suppose technically it IS, but isn't all fan fiction? It still takes place in France in the Opera House. But I'm not writing a continuation of the book. Also, I've been told my people are OOC. Once again, I respectfully disagree. Read on.  
  
Christine sat amazed for a full minute before she completely understood everything that had just happened. She noticed her hands were covered in blood. Quick tears came to her eyes as she remembered the violent death of her dearest friend a moment ago. Erik was playing furiously at the organ and calling to her. She felt the first stirrings of what could only be called hatred.  
  
"Christine, sing for me," The voice was gentle, tired. "Please."  
  
Christine stared at his back. He looked as though he was in the throes of ecstasy. The monster. The selfish obsessive monster. Her face contorted into an uncharacteristic sneer.  
  
'I would sooner die,' she thought. Her eyes slowly focused on the body of Raoul again. "My love..."  
  
She gasped. Had there been movement from Raoul? She didn't want to hope... She only prayed that Erik would continue his concerto of pain so that he wouldn't hear...  
  
Quickly and as discreetly as she could, she reached for his wrist. All she wanted was a pulse. That was all she needed to revive her strength.  
  
'Please Raoul, don't die.' Her thoughts were frantic. Was that movement under his eyelids? Yes...and a pulse, though faint, was present. She glanced at Erik. He was caught up in the frantic melodies of his new masterpiece. He would not notice.  
  
She leaned forward to Raoul's ear.  
  
"Darling, I know you can hear me. If I can get you out of here soon, I'm sure I can save you." Her voice was lower than a whisper. She didn't dare speak louder. She was sure nothing short of divine intervention could help them now.  
  
Christine shot another glance at Erik. His playing had lost its frantic fervor suddenly. His song became a lullaby, soft and hypnotizing. Christine felt herself weaken as the notes penetrated her futile mental barrier of hatred.  
  
"Erik, darling, what is this piece," Christine wondered at her ability to speak. "It's so familiar..."  
  
"Nothing, love. Just listen..."  
  
Christine could not stop herself from closing her eyes. She couldn't stop herself from lying down next to Raoul. She instinctively curled an arm around his torso and rested her head on his chest.  
  
"It's beautiful Erik." She mumbled. And she was gone.  
  
Erik stopped playing, sure now that Christine had fallen asleep. He turned around in his seat to look at her. He stared just a beat too long at her crumpled, sleeping form draped protectively across the bloody mess that was Raoul. The Vicomte's breathing was just a little more obvious now Erik noted with a smile.  
  
He rose slowly and strode to the sleeping two.  
  
"Another chance, love?" he whispered. He left the room.  
  
Christine awoke slowly and with difficulty. Her head was spinning with childhood melodies. She remembered.  
  
"Raoul! Now is our chance! We must escape before he comes back." Her eyes darted around the room searching desperately for any sign of Erik's hidden presence.  
  
"Chris...tine...love...?"  
  
"Yes, dear?" she answered, still searching.  
  
"He...won't let...this happen."  
  
Christine turned a reassuring smile to him. "Don't let him frighten you, Raoul."  
  
He sighed.  
  
Sure now that Erik was gone, Christine rose from the ground, defiantly pulling Raoul up with her.  
  
"Dearest, I'm...too heavy." Raoul gasped.  
  
"Nonsense, love."  
  
He wouldn't let her go further. "Christine," his strength was fighting to return. "We've started something now. It won't end unless we kill him."  
  
Christine laughed nervously. "Don't be silly..." But she saw the serious look in his eyes. "Raoul, we can't. He's just a sad, lonely man..."  
  
"He almost killed me. For nothing."  
  
She turned away. "I...don't want to."  
  
He spread his arms slightly, still in her fragile grip. "Then this happens again."  
  
"No..."  
  
"He'll kill me for sure next time."  
  
"Raoul."  
  
"Don't you love me?"  
  
"Yes..."  
  
He paused. "Then prove it."  
  
Christine was silent. It was true; Erik could conceivably try to kill Raoul again. He might event try to kill her, although she couldn't really see that happening. He'd helped her. He'd always believed in her. Could she really be so arrogant and try to take his life?  
  
She looked into Raoul's blood splattered face and suddenly knew the answer. She'd almost lost him once, never again.  
  
"I will." She promised. Together they stumbled out of Erik's lair.  
  
The laugh started in the pit of his stomach and rumbled forth like no laugh heard before or since. It was a sad laughter, but Erik had never sounded happier.  
  
She'd let him down.  
  
Again.  
  
He held his mask in his hands and grinned at it. How smooth, how clear, how perfect it was.  
  
"Well," he told the mask. "They're going to kill me."  
  
The mask stared back impassively.  
  
"Isn't that funny?"  
  
No response.  
  
"Well, I think it is." He said as he laid the mask on the organ stool. His hiding place had been behind the organ. Such a simple place to hide, but neither had noticed him. He almost wished they had.  
  
"Silly Christine," he said down to the mask. "You can not kill me. And neither can your little friend." He heard them in the passage beyond his door. They were lost. He turned his head to his door and smiled. Sort of.  
  
"If you ever find your way out, do come back for a visit." Another laugh burst forth from his smiling mouth.  
  
"Ta..." he muttered as he lifted the mask and exited. 


	3. Shooting Stars

Previously in Perfect Love, Christine discovers that Raoul did not die after Erik attacked him.  She makes quick plans to get him out of Erik's lair and to safety.  But little does she know that Erik knows that he did not kill Raoul and that their escape was a part of his plan.  Christine and Raoul plot Erik's demise… is Erik prepared?  Or does Erik have a plan of his own?

I still do not own Phantom of the Opera.  Although maybe someday…  Oh dear, my chapters get longer as I go along.

Stars flashed and blinked out of sight.  Just an optical illusion, he reminded himself.  The stars could not possibly know what he was thinking.  They couldn't possibly be warning him…

The nights were quite cold this time of year, yet he found himself here almost every night regardless of the weather.  His cloak was pulled tightly around his body, his wide hat pulled low over his brow.  No fear of the wind biting at his face as his mask did a wonderful job of protecting him from that.  As the years passed, he found more reasons to be thankful for the mask.  And yet, it was a barrier.  It cut him from the rest of humanity until he felt that he could no longer call himself human.

The very top of the Opera house was safe.  He could sit here in silence for hours and not have to suffer distraction or interruption.  It was here that he'd had his best ideas.  It was his secret and yet so very public place.  All one had to do is look up at the well -lit theater toward the roof and they might actually catch a glimpse of him.  But no one ever looked up.

He watched the stars with the patience of a cat awaiting a kill.  He felt no resentment toward the stars.  He didn't feel resentment for most things.  It was just his nature to be a killer.

'Yes,' he muttered.  'But he still lives.'

Raoul.

The sky was remarkably clear tonight.  If he stared long enough, he knew he would be rewarded with a shooting star.  So many flew through the night, every night, and yet Erik was sure he was the only one to ever notice them.  He thought of himself as a shooting star, when he was in one of his silly, romantic moods.  He was moody tonight.

He lifted his long slender fingers to the ties of the mask and loosened them.  He found himself to be more and more curious about his physical appearance as he grew older.  He placed it at his side.  He wondered what other people felt in their skin.  Did they feel repulsion, like he did?  Or do they even notice the bodies that house their souls?

His eyes closed and he reached upward once more.  The last time he had seen his reflection had been years ago, but he knew his appearance.  He knew every crevice, every fold, every damn wrinkle.  He slowly ran his hand down his mangled face, taking careful note of every deformity.  The hollow eyes, the void where his nose should have been…  He rested his fingertips there and felt the soft tissue.  It had ceased to bother him, now he was simply curious.  He was hideous.  It was a statement of fact, but that didn't bother him either.

He sighed and dropped his hands into his lap.  It was late.  Most of the carriages below were gone.  Christine was still at the theater; he knew it.  Raoul, however, was not.  He was careful to note his leaving.  It did not even cross his mind that this would be a trick.  Raoul may be underhanded and conniving, but Christine was not.  He felt betrayed by her, but he was not afraid of her.

He stood and let the cloak unfurl.  He raised his eyes once more to the speckled sky above and was granted with a glimpse of a falling star.  He laughed and tipped his hat to the glowing bits of light.

"Farewell.  Wish me luck, friends."

Her reflection looked glum.  It was another night, and so another battle with Raoul.  Although she had agreed to help him end Erik's reign of terror, she did not like to be reminded of it.  Couldn't he just forget it?  Erik had not made another attempt on his life for days.  Christine was satisfied that Erik would never try it again, but Raoul refused to trust her judgment.

"I don't want Erik to die, but what if Raoul is right?" she asked herself.  "Erik hasn't visited me in days.  Ever since that night…" She frowned at herself.  It was better this way.  Perhaps if Erik never came back, he would be safe from Raoul and…her?  Her eyes were sad reflections in the mirror.

"I…"

"Christine." His voice carried from the other side of the mirror.  She could not help the sly smile that crept over her face.  It didn't matter suddenly that she was supposed to kill him, or that he was an insane psychotic killer himself; this was their secret, and he had come back.

"Erik."

"Will you come with me tonight?"

"Of course."

Silently the mirror swung forward.  Erik stepped forward through the passage and extended his hand to her.  She hesitated.  If Raoul knew of this, he would go after Erik with everything he had.  She stared at Erik's hand, at his long fingers.  Such long fine fingers, perfect for playing the organ.  The hand of an artist.  Now was not the time for thoughts of Raoul.  She stepped forward and took hold of his warm hand as he pulled her close.  The mirror swung shut behind them.

"Where have you been for so long?" she asked.

He laughed at her.  "I thought you were plotting to kill me."

"Oh." She was surprised.  "I don't know what you're talking about." She stuttered.

He stood in the darkness looking at her.  "Why do you always lie to me Christine?" he sounded sad.

Christine didn't know what to say.  She wasn't sure if he was still looking at her, as the passage was rather dark.  She knew she had disappointed him somehow.

"Erik, I'm…sorry.  I never meant..." She was cut off.  Erik spun around suddenly and grabbed her hand.  He started off in a run down the passage toward his lair.  Christine tried desperately to keep her balance, for if she fell she was certain Erik would not stop to help her up.  He'd probably drag her along…

"Erik!  Why are we running!?"

He was silent as he ran.  He seemed angry and Christine felt frightened.  They were nearing the lair and for some inexplicable reason, Christine suddenly felt scared for her life.

The moment they entered his chambers he flung her down on a chair.  Christine cowered and raised her hands to shield her face.  Erik paced in front of her furiously.  With every sharp turn she felt her heart rising up to her throat and her head pounding.

"Erik," she moaned.  "Please calm down!"

He stopped his pacing and turned to her.  She slowly lowered her hands and stared wide-eyed at the masked form.  It was hard to tell what he was thinking.  His eyes were blank and masks have no expression.  She searched the empty face for some sign.

He surprised her by leaping forward, his face inches from hers.  She could see now that his eyes were not blank, but wild with fury.

"Curious tonight, child?  I thought once was all you could stomach, but apparently you want more!  Have I been mistaken all along?  It is not the Vicomte's rugged good looks you desire, but the hideousness of a side show freak!  Would you like to see what I have hidden beneath this mask?  Is that why you stare at me?  Fine!"  Erik tore the mask from his face, breaking the fine threads that bound it.

Christine bit back her repulsion.  She tried to look away but he held her head fast in his hands.

"Look!" he cried.

"Erik…stop it…"

"No!" He took her hands and placed them on his face.  "Feel it!  It's real.  It's me.  Does that frighten you?  Do I frighten you?"

"Erik," Christine whispered.  "Stop this.  It doesn't matter.  This doesn't matter."

He let go of her in disgust.  "Oh, doesn't it?"  He was sarcastic.

Christine sat heaving in the chair.

He stood staring at her as she regained her composure.  She averted her gaze.  She would not look at him.  Erik slowly picked the mask up and tied it around his head once more.

"Leave, Christine.  Go to your Raoul.  Gaze upon his face and try to forget what you saw tonight.  Try to imagine that there is no such creature that looks as I do.  Kiss his charming lips and hold his darling face and pretend that I am only wearing an ugly mask." His words were gentle, tinged with bitterness.  "But remember, neither you nor your handsome counterpart will ever kill me.  I must warn you to abandon this futile gesture because I love you, but if you insist on it, than I will have to retaliate.  And you do not want me to retaliate."

Christine backed slowly out of the room, but as soon as she reached the dark passage beyond his chamber door, she turned and sprinted, hoping to never see it again.

What a mess that turned out to be.  Erik regretted having to resort to such cruel measures.  He smiled as he remembered her expression at seeing his face so close.  But it was necessary.  She could not forget what he was, even for a moment.  He wanted her to know him.

He sat on the edge of the chair he had thrown her into.  It was still warm from her body.  He rested his hand on the cushion beside him.

"You will understand eventually, love." He muttered.  "It will all make sense eventually."

He lay back on the stiff chair and let his body relax.  'And now, I sleep.'  As his eyes closed, his last thoughts were of her smiling face.


End file.
